Regular Ordinary Berwald Meal Time
by sweetsnow73
Summary: A slight parody of the cooking instructional videos called 'Regular Ordinary Swedish Meal Time'. Peter wants his PaPa Berwald to teach him to cook something, little does he know just what he's about to witness.


It had started out simply enough like all adventures.

Sealand wanted his adoptive father to show him how to cook something.

When Sealand was there and shared a meal with Berwald, the food was something that seemed to appear. Perhaps it was Peter's habit of playing video games, he tended to get engrossed in those for hours, a bomb could have went off next door and he wouldn't have noticed par the power going out.

He seemed to have a reason to miss the magic that is cooking for every meal. He woke up later and breakfast was ready, he was playing until dinner was ready and he had a simple sandwich of some kind for lunch.

His papa was always a quiet man, so even if Peter ruined anything and burned the house down he wasn't worried about getting yelled at ("I'm not mad, disappointed." which to a child is often worse then a scolding) and they would start off with something that would be filling and simple. At first his papa didn't want to teach him. His papa had cooked for himself for many years (eons? Peter's concept of time was sometimes horrible...) so Peter knew he could cook, and the food they shared was good, so the preparation must be something of a second nature to his papa.

"I talk to myself..." It was a reasonable enough reason not to want someone watching you as you mutter to yourself. But Peter wasn't letting him off that easy.

"That alright! I do that sometimes too when I'm focusing on something!"

A small grin was attempted on his papas part and Sealand focused on his puppy dog eyes. It was incredibly important to know how to cook! He didn't want to end up like his stupidjerkfacebrother England. Peter had tried Arthur's cooking before and it was horrible, but then, in a child's hopeful and trusting spirit he went out with Arthur to a pub and tried real English food that was properly prepared, and he had almost asked the cook to marry him. It was all in the preparation, the technique the cook and the passion.

"...I don't want you to hear something..." a side ways glance. But honestly how bad could it get? This was his papa for goodness sakes!

"Oh it's alright! I'll know that whatever I hear is the strictest of secrets! I won't tell a soul!"

But in the end his papa couldn't say no to him.

Peter sits a the small dinner table, he sits looking towards the kitchen, much like the rest of Sweden's house it is fairly modern but has enough comforting decorations to be welcoming. The kitchen is the most modern and sleek of any of the rooms, metal on metal but with pale hard wood floors. It's a big contrast to Arthur's kitchen, which looks like it hadn't been updated since the Victorian era (which it had been, dishwasher, refrigerator, stove and oven and the plumbing is constantly being updating). Peter's own kitchen at his home is more of a college dorm room set up, hot plates, coffee makers and make shift living rooms as dinning areas. He loved well crafted and well planned things, perhaps kitchens most of all.

His papa came in wearing a simple apron, nothing flashy or informative (or humorous). He paused in the kitchen taking in the sight, as if he'd never seen it before.

"First we get the ingredients..." Alright Peter's able to keep up so far, basic steps, Peter nods and smiles.

It was when the small, surprisingly durable potatoes made connection with the wall space next to the sink that Peter started to suspect something was off. Why was his papa throwing things at the wall?

"Kassler!" The package knocked over the wooden block holding the knife collection. His papa seemed to be very angry at food at the moment.

Peter stayed very still as he watched. His papa wasn't just talking to himself in Swedish...there was English thrown in as well. He introduced the foods, and he threw most of them, at the same spot. It was when the carrot hit the counter he realized it was all landing near the cutting board. Ah! The mushrooms, carrot, onions and such would all need to be cut! Of course!

When his papa started gnawing on the potatoes he got worried again.

When it seems like the potato he was working on was deskinned enough Berwald moves on to the next one, all the while growling or grunting.

The small pile was gnawed at until deemed good enough and Berwald opens a low storage cupboard, takes out a seemingly random metal pan and slams the cupboard.

His papa yells something as he runs out the kitchen, Peter can hear the front door open...

then the stomping approach of his papa's return. The pan is slammed onto the stove top and the heat is turned on high. His papa glares at the snow as it rapidly melts.

"Potatoes COOK THEM!" The poor potatoes where thrown into the pot partially knocking the pot off the heat source.

A knife is lifted into the air as his papa turns and looks at him, Peter's Swedish isn't the best but he's sure that the loud "HAAAAAGG" before his papa turns around to the cutting board is universal. Peter, in the midst of his fear is still curious so he takes up a spot near the stove to watch what happens next.

His papa cuts mushrooms, unions and carrots in a fast manner that sends much of the chunks flying in every direction. By now the potatoes have cooked enough to be ready for the next step in their (sad) life journey. Peter steps to the side. They are drained and while still being a level of hot that Peter cringes at his papa places his knife, blade up on the cutting board. With the right hand Berwald throws the potatoes at the blade all the while yelling "PETER THIS IS SWEDISH STYLE".

The meat comes next, and Peter is too afraid to ask what it is, his papa seems confused and takes a bite from the meat. He chews vigorously but somehow joyfully. A curt nod and the meat is apparently what is expected.

Then there is a pause. Peter is quiet, he contemplates running to the chair or the door. His papa is so loud when he cooks, angry sounding too. But the sudden stillness is almost more frightening then the Swedish/English (swenglish?) yelling and the throwing.

"I think it's time for..." Peter gulped. What now? His papa's refrigerator door has tiny dents in it, something that he had noticed but never bothered to bring up. In his papa's rush to close the door after opening and retrieving something from within, his papa left a tiny dent from his fist punch. His papa unscrews the lid and using a spoon, dips directly from the contents. Peter wonders what it is, but the glare, that normally wouldn't bother him, is strong tonight. Peter thought the container was of a liquid but his papa seemed to be chewing something, and breathing heavily via his nose. Peter is startled when he is approached by his papa with the jar and spoon.

"It's good for you!" Peter nods and quickly shoves a spoon full of the substance, not once having seen the label.

Sweden returns to the cutting board, placing the meat out before him. Where previously he is rash and violent, here he is sweet and dare we say 'loving' in his cutting of the meat. Peter walks closer, cautious but thankful for the sudden calmness, but weary of the coming storm.

"You must be gentle with your meats, Peter. Like a lady..."

"like a lady..."

"like a lady..."

Peter slowly backs away as his papa keeps muttering the same phrase over and over again.

Peter sits back in his chair, clinging slightly to the jar. Butter is thrown into a frying pan, after melting the meat is added. This is the sanest part to the whole meal preparation...perhaps a good thing. Peter's seen and heard so much already he needs time to digest it all.

Some liquid is added to a big pot, Peter notices it's bigger then the one used to boil the potatoes in. The chopped vegetables and thrown in, with the same grace at it's been shown throughout the preparation. And for a unknown added measure his papa decided that perhaps the vegetables where back talking or giving him sass and he punched the contents of the pot. The meat is added, this whole time a growling is heard. Stirring is quick and then the frying pan is prepared again with butter, the eggs slammed onto the surface. Shell and yolk go flying.

The eggs quickly cook, the strew is reaching a temperature.

"Peter the plates!" more growling as his papa stares at the eggs, daring them to not cook thoroughly. Peter sets the jar down (having been clinging to it this whole time) and retrieves the plates from their safe sport. He sets the table for two knowing that tonight they won't be expecting company. He get the glasses and utensils, a loud grunt followed by "Ready!" lets Peter know to get out of the way. The serving plate with the omelets is slammed down, but then a pot holder is placed next to it.

Peter watches as the big pot is placed on the pot holder. Quick, almost stabbing motions are used to serve up the food. Peter is sitting already as the plate is set before him. His papa is putting food on his own plate, when for one of the few time that night, Peter finds his voice.

"What...what was all that?"

"_That was cooking, _**THIS IS DINNER.**_" _

It had all been a hurricane of sorts, with possible swearing and abuse against food. Peter blinks at his papa, mouth slightly open but looking down at the food he smirks a little. He picks up his fork and begins eating, and he nods to himself, that yes this was just as good as anything else his papa has made. As they both chewed he could see the calm return to both his papas eyes and body, the feelings, or whatever else that had caused the scene in the kitchen was leaving. It was a sight, Peter realized, that he had seen a few times before, but never placed before now. This calming of the nerves. His papa's thundering rage and violent behavior in the kitchen is perhaps the only time he gets like that, anymore, Peter shudders at the thought that there was a time that his papa, the man sitting across from him, was like that all the time.

"Peter use your napkin."

Yes, his papa was back to normal. This was just another ordinary meal time.


End file.
